


Leaving Tonight

by thechemicalgirl



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Affection, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, Minor Character Death, The Witcher 2: Assassins of Kings, this is all because Ciaran deserved better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:27:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24640858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thechemicalgirl/pseuds/thechemicalgirl
Summary: 'Once all soldiers have run out, the room fell almost quiet, only some muffled shouting and the clashing of metal coming through wooden walls. Ciaran closed his eyes and the tears finally fell freely, causing the cuts on his cheekbones and jaw to burn, and his breathing to become erratic, which was so incredibly painful that he was absolutely certain he had several broken ribs.He had no idea who dared to attack Loredo's barge in the bastard's own town, but they were most likely to end up imprisoned right next to him and send to drown down the river.'Or the story where Ciaran is imprisoned and alive on Loredo's barge when Geralt and Iorveth defeat the guards, and it causes a lot of suppressed feelings to finally resurface.
Relationships: Ciaran aep Easnillien/Iorveth, some implied Cedric/Iorveth/Ciaran
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	Leaving Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> Another The Witcher 2: Assassins of Kings fanfiction, this time it's about my lovely elves because they deserve so much more than what they got. There is also some implied relationship with Cedric, but he, unlike Ciaran, remains canonically dead. 
> 
> I realise that the time is a bit off, because if I am not wrong Iorveth says Ciaran has been gone for two weeks when he meets Geralt, but I fit it all in like two days because I can't let Ciaran suffer for that long! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading x

Ciaran has been walking through the shadowy forest near Flotsam for a while now, savouring the gentle breeze hitting his face and tangling his long, raven hair. The afternoon was surprisingly peaceful and no other Scoia'tael appeared to be hunting in the area; if they were, he would have already heard their footsteps or breathing, but the only sounds around him were the rustling of leaves and singing of a lone wood warbler.  
It took him some time to get used to considering this place his home, but eventually he began to appreciate the charm of ancient elven ruins hidden among the willows, and besides that... Where he lived didn't matter much, what mattered was the fact that other Aen Seidhe were there with him, that they were ready to unite and keep fighting for freedom when the opportunity came - Iorveth would lead them to a certain victory, he was unlike any other commander Ciaran had known in his life. Exceptionally courageous, proud and with an attitude that simply demanded respect, but he also possessed an aura of subtlety, despite his intimidating appearance. There was something about him that made Scoia'tael crave his approval, always try to get a kind word out of him...  
Or at least that was the effect he had on Ciaran, but the elf knew there were several others who felt the same way. 

A sudden noise from the tree right above him snatched him out of his thoughts, and he unhurriedly raised his head until his eyes met Iorveth's. 'Speak of the devil', Ciaran thought, feeling the corner of his lips involuntarily lift up at the sight of his commander sitting on the branch. 

"You are the only one who's able to sneak up on me like that", he spoke, raising his voice a little. "I can't believe I haven't heard you earlier, perhaps I am losing focus in my old age." 

Iorveth remained silent but began gracefully climbing down the tree, swiftly jumping from one branch to another. In moments like this, he truly reminded Ciaran of a squirrel and even though all Aen Seidhe were able to do the same thing, there was something enchanting and special in watching _him_ prove just how elegant elves were in their movement.

"That's why I am the commander... And you are not old at all", Iorveth responded once he joined him on the ground and although the usual edge of arrogance was present in his tone, his expression softened when he turned his head to look at Ciaran. The change was barely noticeable, but they had been companions for so many years that catching such details has become purely natural among them. "What are you doing out there, all on your own? I have been told that vatt'ghern wished to speak with you." 

Ciaran closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling the smell of pine needles and rain. 

"I could ask you the same thing", he muttered. "Elaine tedd a'taeghane, all of us need to clear their head from time to time." 

He didn't even have to see Iorveth's face to be certain that the elf frowned; he was as fluent in reading Ciaran as his friend was in reading him, there was no place for pretending between them. 

"Something is troubling you", the Scoia'tael commander remarked dryly, reaching out to rest his hand on Ciaran's arm. "Do not try to fool me, it's not simply about wanting rest." 

"Right as always, you are", the younger elf confirmed, now with a full, light-hearted smile. "Tell me honestly, do you trust Letho? I am no Cedric, but I have an odd feeling when I think about my encounters with him so far... And then he wants to discuss something all of a sudden in the ruins, I simply cannot let go of my suspicions." 

Iorveth nodded, mindlessly caressing Ciaran's forearm, as if in consolation. 

"I obviously don't trust him in the slightest, he's a dh'oine", he spoke quietly. "I believe he is going to remain peaceful though, we have unfortunately become allies for now, he wouldn't try to harm anyone... But I have to ask you to be careful around him, Ciaran. Bring your unit when you decide to go and speak with him." 

They both remained quiet for a few minutes after that, reflecting upon the words. All Scoia'tael were cautious when it came to the vatt'ghern who recently started living in their forest, but none of them dared to actually voice their concerns.  
Iorveth's hand wandered lower, leaving a burning trail on Ciaran's skin until it pressed to his own, fingers intertwining as if it was a familiar gesture; it wasn't, and Ciaran would have never had the audacity to even imagine it.

"You know he doesn't stand a chance against my unit", he observed, praying Iorveth wouldn't notice the subtle trembling of his hand in the other man's hold. "If he tries anything, we will be prepared. Ayd f'haeil moen Hirjelf taenverde, as a certain wise elf has told me years ago." 

"I have a lot trust in you", Iorveth said, stepping back into the shadows and untangling his fingers from Ciaran's, but there was a ghost of a smile hovering over his lips. "Va faill, we shall meet again soon." 

The forest became quiet once again, almost like their encounter didn't actually happen, but Ciaran's restless heart assured him that every gesture and word was real; every single one of them left a mark on his soul, aching more and more with each step that brought Iorveth further away from him. 

***

When he finally managed to regain consciousness, he was tied up and completely unable to move, the course rope scraping against the skin of his wrists and causing them to bleed.  
His eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness surrounding him in the narrow, stuffy room, and he could hear the distant sound of waves hitting the walls, which could only mean one thing - he disappointed his entire unit, his people who trusted him and didn't doubt their commander's righteousness even once, and even worse, he disappointed Iorveth. 

Ciaran could barely recall the events leading up to his capture at first, but as he sat motionlessly, pain piercing through his entire body, the terrifying images started to gradually emerge in his clouded mind. 

After the conversation with Iorveth, he had gathered his unit - they were hesitant to accompany him while facing the vatt'ghern, but obviously didn't let their uncertainty prevail; they were all too brave and proud for that, as true Aen Seidhe should be. Besides that, their task had been primarily to follow him and stay silent somewhere in the area, arrows ready in case Letho attempted to violate the unspoken pact of peace between them.  
And had he attempted, a traitorous dh'oine, every single suspicion Ciaran had about him from the very beginning had been confirmed right when he first opened his cursed mouth. 

_"I have heard some things about you, Ciaran aep Easnillien", Letho spoke in a deep voice, leaning forward to get a better look at him. The elf tried not to flinch when his eyes met those unnatural, intimidating irises. "You seem to be close to Iorveth, closer than other Scoia'tael... That brings us to my proposal for you."_

_"What would that be?" Ciaran asked warily, straightening his back. He couldn't afford to express any weakness in front of the vatt'ghern, especially now, when he was about to present his offer which Ciaran would undoubtedly have to refuse. "Why not speak with Iorveth about it?"_

_Letho laughed, the sound rumbling like thunder and particularly unpleasant._

_"Because the point of my offer is to eliminate him", he stated simply, drawing one of his swords and casually running one finger along the shining blade. "And you are the one who I've chosen to help me. Tell me where to find Iorveth when he is alone and defenceless and I will make sure you are never harassed among humans again."_

_Ciaran took a step back, raising his hand to give a subtle signal for his people; he realized that if the conversation continued this way, they were going to have to intervene in no time._

_"That's what Scoia'tael are fighting for, why should I betray them all to grant a carefree life for myself?"_

_The muscular witcher laughed again, but it was far from amused. His steel sword remained pointed at the ground, but his grip on it visibly tightened._

_"Because if you don't, you will say goodbye to your precious elven head."_

_Ciaran didn't waste any more time, quickly reaching for his own weapon and charging at Letho, but the last thing he remembered was a wave of energy throwing him back against the wall and the desperate calls of his brothers._

He had no clue how Loredo's soldiers were able to find him in the forest, but he was sure of one thing; Letho was the traitor and he needed to warn Iorveth one way or another, even if it meant sacrificing himself and certain death.  
Ciaran was not afraid of dying, he had lived for a long time and fought for freedom like a true warrior, but he wanted to leave this world with some dignity, not tied up and choking on his own blood that left a metallic taste in his mouth, and he couldn't leave without making sure that his people... his family, were all safe. He had already let enough of them down.

He glanced up at the torn sleeve of his white, dusty shirt, which revealed a part of the tattoo decorating his forearm; the leaves have gotten stained with drying blood, making them appear like some kind of a bizarre painting, left unfinished by a frantic artist.  
His sensitive ears registered several conversations between the soldiers, sharp laughter and obnoxious jokes, but then something suddenly changed - the atmosphere stopped being so casual, and new voices arose in the thick fog surrounding his mind. One belonged to a woman, it was melodic and sweet, but the second... It was the voice of a fighter, the kind that left no room for argument. 

"We are here to talk to the prisoner, Bernard Loredo's orders." 

There was a calloused hand touching his forehead, more talking and then a strange sense of absolute equilibrium, a moment where pain and fear could no longer reach him. Ciaran allowed his eyelids to shut, unable to fight the feeling anymore, but it passed almost as abruptly as it appeared; the pain returned, and he could feel it burning through every single one of his bones.

"Who are you?" he managed to grit out, clenching his teeth. "They have already tortured me enough, you won't get anything out of me." 

The person standing in front of him was without a doubt a witcher, and not just some witcher - Geralt of Rivia, the infamous Butcher of Blaviken. Ciaran laughed weakly, shaking his head.

"Do you think I will trust a vatt'ghern? My unit was betrayed by Letho, one of your kind. He killed everyone, I still don't know how I escaped... Bloede traitor", he whispered. "I might speak to you, but you have to promise me one thing."

The witcher looked at the red-haired woman accompanying him, most likely a sorceress, and they both hesitantly nodded. 

"Promise me you will warn the Scoia'tael commander, Iorveth", Ciaran breathed, attempting to clutch his wounded side and failing miserably. "Then come back and I will tell you whatever you wish to know." 

"You might be dead by the time we come back", the Butcher of Blaviken commented dryly, but his eyes were kind and the hand on Ciaran's forehead remained gentle. "I didn't travel all the way to Flotsam to negotiate with elves, but I believe your commander can lead us to Letho... I reckon I can help you. Tell me how to find him."

The elf explained everything, each word deepening the dull ache in his chest, but he realised it was the only way to make sure his people could stay safe. He had to trust this vatt'ghern, even if it was against his morals. 

"One last thing", he muttered, grabbing the witcher's hand as he began standing up to leave. He had heard the sorceress whisper about how bad his wounds were, how he had hours left at best. "Tell Iorveth..."

"Yes?" 

The golden eyes watched him carefully, something like understanding hidden behind them. Ciaran smiled wistfully and shook his head, looking down at the dried blood on his tattoo once again. He couldn't give up now, not when they were finally getting close to making their fight for freedom truly matter.

"Nothing", he eventually spoke, raising his arm to press a gentle kiss to the leaves painted on his skin. "I will tell him myself when the time comes."

***

He didn't know how many hours have passed since the witcher left; he kept losing consciousness every once in a while, sometimes for longer periods of time, woken up only by remarkably violent soldiers who kicked him in the stomach and landed punches on his jaw until he coughed up crimson blood.  
Despite the horrific state he was in, he wanted to laugh in their faces - thanks to their constant beating, even if he decided that he wanted to reveal anything about Scoia'tael, he wouldn't be able to properly speak. 

"Ploughing non-humans, at least you make for a good training bag!" one of the soldiers growled, crouching so he was on the same level as Ciaran. He twisted his lips in some sort of a grimace before tilting the elf's chin up and spitting straight in his bruised, swollen face. "That's for my cousin, remember him? Barely a man, but your precious commander decided he was a threat and murdered him." 

Ciaran shook his head, feeling the muscles in his neck burn and the hot spit run down his cheek. It was utterly humiliating, he had never been that blatantly disrespected by a dh'oine and now he was going to die this way; tied up and filthy, under the deck of Loredo's barge.  
Tears filled his eyes and he couldn't even recognise if they were yet caused by the pain consuming his body, or by the pain slowly desolating his heart. 

"Fuck!" some other soldier, broad-shouldered and ginger, yelled. "Everybody head to the B deck! We are under attack!" 

Ciaran's torturer instantly let go of his chin, allowing his head to limply fall against his chest. 

"I am leaving you for now, but know that you are going to get a taste of my sword once I return", he threatened, slapping the elf's cheek for good measure. "You will die how you deserve to... like a damned rat, forgotten by everyone you've cared about." 

Once all soldiers have run out, the room fell almost quiet, only some muffled shouting and the clashing of metal coming through wooden walls. Ciaran closed his eyes and the tears finally fell freely, causing the cuts on his cheekbones and jaw to burn, and his breathing to become erratic, which was so incredibly painful that he was absolutely certain he had several broken ribs.  
He had no idea who dared to attack Loredo's barge in the bastard's own town, but they were most likely to end up imprisoned right next to him and send to drown down the river, or tortured to death. 'At least there will be company', Ciaran thought, more tears escaping and staining the collar of his shirt. He could merely pray for it to be over as soon as possible, but at the back of his mind he desperately wished he could see Scoia'tael, his only family, one last time before leaving this world. 

The noises of the fight faded away entirely after a few minutes, so when he heard the heavy footsteps of someone walking down the stairs, he expected to see one of the soldiers returning; instead, his blurred vision was greeted with a sight of Butcher of Blaviken wiping his bloodied blade with a rag. 

"Gwynbleidd, Loredo has set the watchtower on fire!" a voice from the upper deck shouted. Ciaran shook his head, because it couldn't possibly be true - there was no way Iorveth had successfully made his way through Flotsam, no way he was going to be the one to set him free, to end his suffering... His dying mind had started hallucinating, perhaps vatt'ghern wasn't real either. 

"Fuck", the witcher grunted before disappearing with his blood-stained sword, leaving the room quiet once more. 

Minutes passed, but they stretched like hours, and then the first Scoia'tael entered the room, gasping when they noticed Ciaran, beaten up nearly beyond recognition. He tried to speak, beg them to release his wrist, or maybe just finish him off because the agony he experienced was too great even for his militant soul, but he couldn't manage anything besides a dry cough.  
In the end he didn't need to ask, as his brothers instantly began cutting through the rope restraining him, gently cleaning his wounds with water and spirit that they found in one of the wooden cabinets. 

"Get Iorveth!" 

"He is alive!" 

"His ribs look very damaged... I am beyond glad we killed those heartless dh'oine." 

The voices surrounded him, but Ciaran could barely process the meaning of the words; not until another voice appeared among them, firm and so familiar that it almost caused him to whimper in relief. 

"Iorveth", he managed to get out, throat thoroughly ruined from screaming in pain. 

The Scoia'tael commander gestured for everyone to leave the room, quickly kneeling in front of him and wrapping his arm around Ciaran's back, allowing him to lean against his chest. 

"I'm here, breathe", he muttered, his voice shaking slightly with suppressed emotion. "Vatt'ghern claimed you were alive, but I didn't trust him enough to believe it... I would kill each one of Loredo's soldiers again to make them pay for what they did to you." 

"Iorveth", Ciaran whispered once more, trying to finally apologise for risking the lives of so many of their people, for getting caught, for letting go of all hope that they were going to meet again... But before he could say anything else, his eyes fell closed and he slipped into absolute darkness. 

***

The pain was still setting his bones on fire when he woke up again, but this time he was surrounded by warmth and an overwhelming sense of safety. He tried to lift his head, but a cool hand immediately settled on his forehead and gently forced him not to move. 

"N'te dice'en", Iorveth spoke quietly, and only then did Ciaran realise that he was resting partly on his lap. "The healer treated your worst wounds, daerienn Triss Merigold helped as well... Scoia'tael were all convinced you were long dead." 

Ciaran looked up at him, watching shadows enhance his high cheekbones and the uneven edges of his scar. There was something uncharacteristically soft in his expression, and his hand kept caressing the younger elf's forehead, reaching further to run through his tangled hair once in a while. 

"Gwynbleidd came to talk to me, he claimed that you were alive and imprisoned on Loredo's barge, that he had proof Letho wanted to eliminate me", Iorveth continued, furrowing his eyebrows. "I didn't believe him at first... We lost more people, I should have confronted vatt'ghern myself, that would have spared them the disgrace of being killed by dh'oine." 

Ciaran coughed and shook his head, raising an arm to put his own hand on Iorveth's cheek. He was stunned when he discovered that the pale skin was wet with tears, a sing of weakness the Scoia'tael commander never let himself show. 

"Something else happened", he breathed, not even trying to make it sound like a question. 

"Cedric is dead", Iorveth whispered, voice breaking on the other's name. "He was murdered by Letho while helping Triss Merigold in Flotsam and then died in the forest... I wasn't with him in his last moments, and all this time I thought I had lost you too." 

Ciaran swallowed, already feeling the bitter taste of tears in his throat. 

"Help me up", he ordered, trying to sit up and eventually succeeding, his forehead pressed against Iorveth's and hands clutching the front of the other elf's shirt. 

When their lips met for the first time in a long while _(five years, a decade?.. It didn't matter)_ , they were gentle and almost timid, trembling and sharing uneven breaths. The kiss tasted like sorrow, the weight of everything they have gone through pressing down on their shoulders, but also like the sweetest promise. Ciaran closed his eyes and focused on Iorveth's touch on the back of his neck. 

"If I possessed one wish, I would have used it to see him one last time", he muttered when they parted, and leaned forward to press his face into the hollow of Iorveth's throat. He couldn't stop himself from letting out a desperate sob anymore, the sound echoing in the silent room. 

Cedric was always there, his presence a steady point in their dangerous lives, his wise words and soothing touch the one thing they could be certain of.  
His loss caused Ciaran's soul to fill with a kind of pain that would never be healed, and he knew Iorveth felt exactly the same. 

They sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity, seeking comfort in one another's embrace, united in mourning and in craving to experience love at last. 

"Where are we heading to now?" Ciaran asked, slowly pulling back to be able to look into Iorveth's eyes. The older elf smiled crookedly, reaching out to tuck some stray hair behind his ear. 

"Vergen", he answered. "There is a person who can grant us our freedom, we will fight by her side... The time when we live in our own country will come soon, Ciaran. Va'esse deireádh aep eigean, va'esse eigh faidh'ar." 

They kissed again, this time without tears staining their lips, hands intertwining between their bodies. 

As the barge sailed through the waves and the sky brightened with a new sunrise, two wounded elves began their own journey to finally find peace in their hearts.

**Author's Note:**

> As this angsty journey comes to an end I want to invite you all to my Tumblr @thechemicalgirl, where I post witchery stuff and a lot of random things, I am always there to talk! 
> 
> I hope you liked the story, there are such few Ciaran/Iorveth fics that I hope people find it and think 'oh man, that should have happened', because as I keep repeating - the elves deserve so much better. Let me know what you think in the comments because they make me incredibly happy, I appreciate every single one of them. 
> 
> Va faill,  
> Alexa xx


End file.
